


Soft Features

by Lenore



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Crossdressing, Dubious Consent, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Fantasy, M/M, Plot What Plot, Porn, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:37:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Mike had worn drag to cheat on the LSATs? What if he'd gotten caught? This is something Harvey fantasizes about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Features

**Author's Note:**

> For the Subspace/Headspace square of my Kink Bingo card.

“So, what was your strategy exactly? Spend five minutes in the women’s clothing department at Target and hope the proctor was legally blind?”

A trickle of sweat meanders down the side of Mike’s face, so slowly it's distracting. The thong, which he’d been promised would be comfortable, chafes him in some extremely uncomfortable places.

“Um.” He darts what he hopes is a charming smile at the man in the three-thousand-dollar suit.

Probably he shouldn't have tried to pull off the whole dress-up-like-a-woman-for-the-LSATs thing a second time. Lighting doesn't strike twice and all that. But the girl who'd hired him—Carla Bedard, and yes, he did blame her for this fucking disaster—had cried when he tried to turn down her business. Mike _so_ can't handle tears.

The man raises a well-manicured eyebrow, clearly waiting for an answer. Why is someone in a three-thousand-dollar suit even proctoring the LSAT? Mike has no idea.

"Uh," he stutters helplessly.

The man smiles, which is not comforting and clearly isn’t meant to be. It gives Mike flashbacks to _Jaws_. “A brilliant retort,” the man drawls.

“I have soft features,” Mike mumbles.

“Mm. I’m sure that will make you very popular in the penitentiary.”

“Wait—what—“ Mike's eyes pop open so wide it feels as if they're operated by springs. His heart hammers like it might beat right out of his chest. “This isn’t a criminal offense!”

“What do you call fraud?" the man answers coolly. "Considering your brazenness, I suspect there’s a pattern of criminality here. I’d say you’re looking at jail time.”

That trickle of sweat quickly becomes a torrent. “Well, what about you?" he shoots back, because best-defense-is-a-good-offense is all he's got right now. "Clearly, this is some kind of community service thing, or you wouldn’t be here.”

The shark smile returns. “Let’s call it a professional misunderstanding. Fortunately, I had one of the best attorneys in the city representing me before the review board.” From the smugness of his expression, Mike knows that the man is referring to himself.

"We can work this out, right? I'll do anything," he blurts out without really thinking about what he has to barter. Maybe he can pick up the guy's dry cleaning for the rest of his life or something.

The man gives him a long, assessing look, which feels like it goes on forever. "You want to negotiate? That might be possible." He drags his thumb across Mike's mouth. His touch makes something coil hot and tight in the pit of Mike's stomach. "You do have soft features."

Mike's not naïve—or at least he hadn't thought he was—but he's honestly never considered that a moment like this could happen outside of a really bad paperback novel, that it might happen to a guy, to _him_.

"What's your name?" It's more of a demand than a question.

"Mike."

"Well, Mike." The man pauses for effect, and Mike doesn't want a tactic that cheap to work, but fuck. He's only human. His heart thunders so hard he's starting to feel dizzy. "Would you rather negotiate with me or your future cellmate?"

It's not a particularly difficult decision given the options. "You. Definitely you."

"Good choice." The man's hand settles on Mike's shoulder, weighty and significant.

Mike gives in to the inevitability. Getting to his knees is made awkward by the skirt and heels he doesn't quite know how to navigate in. It doesn't help that he's never done this before—or okay, fine, he's never done this while sober—and he fumbles the man's belt and fly open, feeling out of his depth. He takes a shaky breath and pulls down the man's underwear with as much bravado as he can muster. Cock is suddenly _right there_ , impossible to ignore, and Mike presses a nervous, chaste kiss to it.

"That's sweet." The man strokes Mike's cheek with his thumb. "Now get to work. You've got restitution to make."

Mike has always been a quick study, and it doesn't take him long to get the hang of the blowjob thing, mostly anyway, sucking and using his tongue and keeping his teeth out of the way. He comes close to gagging only once. Okay, twice. But it's just because he's an over-achiever and tries to take too much cock.

The man seemingly approves of Mike's performance. At least, there are no threats that if Mike doesn't do a better job he's going to be calling some thug named Bubba "Daddy" for the next three to five years.

"Pretty." The man cups Mike's jaw, presses in with his thumb, traces the shape of Mike's mouth where it's wrapped around his erection.

Mike's own cock jerks in response, pressing against the thong, and Mike realizes with a start that he's been hard for kind of a while now. He only gets harder when the man begins to move his hips, fucking Mike's mouth. The dress bunches in his hand as he grabs at himself, squeezing his cock, rubbing the fabric against it.

He could get off like this; the shock of that sends something sharp and electric up his spine, sends a heated rush to his dick. The desperate little noise that spills out of him is embarrassing as fuck, but, hey, no more so than the drool and pre-come dripping from his chin.

"Enough," the man declares.

That makes no sense, so Mike doesn't stop. He clenches his fingers in the expensive fabric of the man's trousers and closes his eyes and sucks harder.

"I said enough." The man pushes at his shoulders.

Mike blinks up at him, bewildered and wanting and fucking frustrated. Isn't there supposed to be a deal on the table? Is it possible to sue for breach of contract in an exploitation type situation?

The man strokes his thumb along Mike's bottom lip. "Look at you. Like a newly debauched virgin."

Okay, no. Mike may not exactly be in a position of power here, but fuck that shit. He bites the man's thumb, hard, to make himself clear.

The man just laughs. "Come on." He urges Mike to his feet.

Mike has a split second to wonder if he did something wrong before he's whirled around and pushed against a nearby table. The man crowds close. "You didn't think I was finished with you, did you?" He eases up the hem of Mike's skirt, so slowly it's a tease, a caress. That was definitely a smirk in his voice.

"You—" Whatever he was going to say goes right out of his head when feels the man's hard on pressed against his ass. "Are you at least going to tell me your name first?"

"Because you need to know what to call out when you come?" He kisses Mike's neck, his breath hot on Mike's skin. "Harvey," he says as he slips the thong down Mike's hips.

There's no helping the startled sound Mike makes when the man's— _Harvey's_ fingers push into him, wet and slippery, and where did that lube come from? He doesn't get very far pondering the question, because Harvey's fingers crook and stroke, making Mike's breath hitch, lighting him up everywhere.

"Oh, God," he moans out loud.

"You like that." The words are thick and smug, and Mike would like to deny it, because _smug_ , but Harvey knows how to play him too well, making him sweat, making him shake.

"Fuck," he gasps when Harvey pulls out his fingers, and again, louder, "Fuck!" when the fingers are replaced by Harvey's cock.

"God," Harvey mutters, pushing Mike's skirt up even further, stroking his hip. "How are you this tight?"

"Fuck you," Mike manages, voice strained, his lungs empty and burning, because it's not that Mike is so tight, but that Harvey is so fucking big.

Mike has no intention of mentioning this.

Harvey chuckles against the back of Mike's neck, the warm puff of his breath sending shivers down Mike's spine. It sounds knowing, as if he's inside Mike's thoughts as well as his body. He thrusts, hard and deliberate, making Mike see stars with every jerk of his hips.

"Please, please," Mike babbles, even though this isn't supposed to be for him.

He gets a hand wrapped around his cock in answer, squeezing, moving, a twist of the wrist on the upstroke that makes Mike's knees threaten to give out every time. Harvey covers Mike's back and shoulders and neck with kisses, and Mike can feel his smile. Still smug. It's hard to care when Mike feels this good. Harvey is still kissing him when he grabs onto the table and everything goes white in his head and he comes.

Never let it be said that Mike isn't a good sport. He waits until Harvey has come too before he starts to laugh, silently, his shoulders shaking.

"What?" Harvey demands huffily as he pulls out.

"Nothing. It's just—for a scenario in which you threaten me with prison rape, that was sort of sweet, you know?"

Harvey lets out a resigned sigh. "You've never met a moment that you didn't need to ruin, have you?" He makes a pained face when Mike hoists his bare ass up onto the dining table. As if Mike's come isn't already all over it.

"I love how I'm not only helpless and virginal in your fantasies, but stupid too. Fraud? Really?"

Harvey plucks at the hem of Mike's skirt and lets it snap back against his leg. "Spandex? Really?"

Mike grins. "You know, someone who was really exploiting me probably wouldn't have kissed me as much as you did or bothered to get me off. Someone who didn't care—"

Harvey cuts him off with a quick, hard kiss. "You thought it was hot."

"I thought it was hot," Mike agrees. In fact, he has quite a few fantasies of his own in which Harvey makes him do things. Not that he thinks it's a good idea to share this information. Harvey will somehow interpret it to mean that he should throw more tedious busy work at Mike.

It's not as if Harvey needs any encouragement that way.

He presses another kiss to Mike's mouth and urges him off the table. "Go. Get cleaned up. Come back in something far less hideous and distracting. You've got briefs to write for me."

"It's two in the morning."

Harvey frowns impatiently. "Why are you still standing there then?"

Mike huffs out a sigh and teeters off in his heels toward Harvey's bedroom. He makes it halfway there before Harvey calls out. "Michael." It's soft and seductive, and Harvey only ever uses Mike's full name when he's fucking him or at least thinking about it.

Mike glances back over his shoulder, and Harvey is watching him, his eyes dark and intent. "Keep the dress. Cheap and desperate is a good look for you."

Mike would make some kind of smart-ass answer, only the way Harvey is looking at him—he feels that everywhere. Fuck. Something more than brief-writing seriously needs to happen between now and when they have to get up and put on their lawyer clothes and head into the office.

Harvey pointedly glances at his watch.

"Yeah, yeah."

Mike totters off smiling. Those briefs can wait until morning. He feels sure he can convince Harvey of that if he really puts his mind to it.


End file.
